


Tenth Standard

by dracoqueen22



Series: Numerology [11]
Category: Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4837322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark is let in on a little secret and he couldn't be happier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tenth Standard

There's a limo waiting outside of his apartment.   
  
Clark blinks at it, somewhat confused, but chooses to ignore it. He turns down the sidewalk, content to enjoy an evening stroll. Sometimes it's nice to walk instead of fly everywhere. Sometimes, it's nice to just be Clark.   
  
“Mr. Kent.”   
  
He pauses and turns. The white-haired gentleman standing outside the limo is looking at him. The door to the backseat has been opened, and he's gesturing into it.   
  
“Me?” Clark asks, pointing to himself.   
  
“Yes, sir,” says the gentleman. “Master Wayne wishes to speak with you.”   
  
Wayne? As in Bruce Wayne? The billionaire from Gotham? Mr. White's been trying to get an interview with him for weeks!  
  
Clark looks down at himself. Casual jeans and a t-shirt. Hardly appropriate attire to meet a billionaire. More than that... why?  
  
“Um?”   
  
“Get in the car, Clark.” The voice floats out of the backseat, obviously Bruce Wayne's. There's something familiar to it, however. Something Clark can't quite place.   
  
Well, it's not like he has to worry about taking care of himself. Unless Bruce Wayne has a cube of kryptonite in his back pocket.   
  
“Yes, sir.”   
  
Clark obeys, nodding a greeting to the older gentleman before ducking into the limo. The driver closes the door behind him and Clark is left peering through the dim at Bruce Wayne, as handsome as every image Clark has seen of him on the local news.   
  
The limo lurches before it smoothly pulls into traffic but the first question out of Clark's mouth is not 'where are we going?'.   
  
“This is, um, unusual,” Clark says, rubbing the back of his head. “Usually I'm the one tracking down people for an interview.”   
  
The corner of Bruce's mouth quirked upward. “This isn't an interview.”  
  
“Oh.”   
  
Clark almost smacks himself. He isn't coming across as very intelligent right now.   
  
“Then what is it?” Clark asks, feeling very underdressed.   
  
Mr. Wayne is wearing a business suit, tie and everything, and he looks crisp and clean. He can't be much older than Clark himself. And that feeling of familiarity persists.   
  
Mr. Wayne leans forward and tilts his head. “You can't figure it out?”  
  
“It would help if I had clues,” Clark offers.   
  
Mr. Wayne outright laughs, and he has a pleasant laugh, Clark notices. He should use it more often.   
  
“We have a mutual interest,” Mr. Wayne says and that smirk returns. He leans back, folding his ankle over his knee. “A league, you could say, of certain talented individuals.”   
  
Clark's eyes widen. It dawns on him, all at once, why Bruce Wayne is so familiar to him, and everything slots into place. It makes sense.   
  
“You...?”  
  
Bruce – or should he say Batman – folds his hands in his lap and winks. “Yes. And you can speak freely. Alfred knows everything.”   
  
“Almost too much, sir,” Alfred replies from the front seat.   
  
“Wow,” Clark says, and wishes he had better words to offer. “I thought you had a strict 'secret identity' policy.”   
  
“I still do,” Bruce clarifies. “But not for you.”   
  
Words completely escape him. That is an enormous weight of trust that Bruce is laying upon him. And it makes Clark almost giddy that he's the only one who knows Batman's secret identity.   
  
He grins. “Thank you for telling me. But...” Clark trails off and makes a pointed gesture to the limo. “Where are we going?”   
  
“Back to Gotham. I promised Dick you'd join us for dinner.”   
  
“You assume I want to.”   
  
Bruce chuckles, something mischievous in his tone. “Don't you?”   
  
Despite himself, Clark laughs, too. “Of course I do. But you know, it's only polite to ask.”   
  
“Since when have you known Batman to be polite?” Bruce counters and yes, that truly is wickedness in his voice. He's enjoying this.   
  
“Hopefully, more often than not now.”   
  
“And ruin my reputation?” Black eyebrows arch upward. “Batman has a certain presence to maintain and being polite isn't part of it. Especially not in Gotham.”   
  
Clark has to give him that much. Gotham is a much darker, more violent city than Metropolis. And it always has been. Gotham breeds a different kind of criminal as well, ones not so easily beaten by physical means.   
  
He picks at his jeans, worn because they are his favorite, and leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Does this mean you're joining the Justice League on a permanent basis?”  
  
“Don't get ahead of yourself, Clark. You're lucky I'm tolerating you.” Bruce's gaze shifts to the front seat. “What's on the menu tonight, Alfred?”   
  
“Pizza, Master Bruce. It is young master Dick's turn to choose, if you recall.”   
  
“I like pizza,” Clark offers.   
  
Bruce rolls his eyes. “Of course you do. And since I am outnumbered, I won't protest. This time.”   
  
The implication being that there might be a next time. Clark all but wriggles in his seat.   
  
Who would have guessed that his persistence would have paid off?  
  
Clark sits back and gets comfortable and there's no way he's going to stop smiling any time soon. It's taken them almost two years to get to this point. Months and months spent talking and arguing and working together.   
  
And here they are. Friends. Friends who know each other's secret identities. Friends who laugh and share pizza. Friends who occasionally help each other save the world.   
  
“What?” Bruce asks, giving him a funny look.   
  
Clark shakes his head. He'd been giving Bruce a dopey smile. Not that he's going to explain why.   
  
“Nothing,” he says. “What's your favorite kind of pizza?”   
  
Bruce blinks, but takes his answer at face value.   
  
And Clark grins to himself.   
  
Friends. With Batman.   
  
He always knew it would happen.   
  


***


End file.
